


The Perfect Moment

by Mithen



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kayfabe Compliant, With Non-Kayfabe Undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seth Rollins has been waiting for the perfect moment to cash in his Money in the Bank briefcase and become the WWE heavyweight champion, and now he is.  He hardly even had to fight anyone to do it; Roman Reigns took all the punishment.  It was a flawless plan.  So he doesn't understand why he feels so damn <i>angry.</i></p><p>Takes place at Wrestlemania and the Raw directly after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Moment

He’s watching the monitors. The briefcase handle is slick with sweat. Joey and Jamie are at his side.

He’s waiting for the perfect moment.

On the monitor, Roman Reigns is taking a beating. This is good, Seth thinks. Better if he were able to beat up Lesnar more, of course. But it’s enough if Roman is pummeled into near-submission. It’s enough.

It’s--

Lesnar slaps Roman across the face, sharp and loud. Roman grins madly up at the Beast, like nothing matters anymore. 

Asks for another. 

Receives it.

“You okay, boss?” says Jamie. 

Seth clears his throat. “Fine. Everything’s going according to plan.”

And it is. Everything is going great. Not so great for Roman, of course, who is having the holy hell beat out of him. Seth sees Roman take a forearm across his mouth, and a look of startled wonder crosses his face. He spits, and--fucking hell, is that a _tooth?_

Joey touches his arm, his face concerned, and Seth realizes he’s made a small sound, almost like he’s horrified. Which he’s not. Everything is going according to plan.

Roman’s mouth is bloody now, his eyes bright with pain, and he launches himself at Lesnar like he’s throwing himself at every doubter, every critic, every faithless betrayer in the world. Blow after blow they trade, until finally they lie exhausted, their chests heaving with great wild gulps for breath, and Seth knows in his bones this is it--this is the perfect moment.

Seventy thousand people roar as he runs to the stage, his own music and his own blood dinning in his ears. Seventy thousand people scream as he curb stomps Lesnar, curb stomps Roman, throws himself down for the pin.

He smells Roman’s blood as he pulls him close. It’s the perfect moment to say something cutting, something sarcastic and cruel at this sweet moment of victory. He wants Roman to know as he loses: _You made this possible._ He opens his mouth to sneer “Thank you _so_ much”--

But it comes out all fucking wrong, it comes out shaking and _hurting,_ as if it’s broken something inside him to see Roman suffering like that, and he can’t bear it, he can’t, he can’t--

The bell rings. The belt is in his hands. Roman is at his feet. And Seth Rollins does what he does best, he runs. Out of the ring and away, and the belt is his. The belt he’s schemed for, and planned for, and sacrificed--his mind skitters away from a memory, a chair, the look on Dean’s face--sacrificed so much for.

Seth Rollins is the Heavyweight Champion of the World.

* * *

It’s _Raw._ His first match as champion. The belt feels good around his waist as he comes down the ramp. He almost hates to take it off.

Randy Orton grins as his third team member is announced and Roman’s music hits.

Seth looks up as Roman walks down through the crowd, keeping his face neutral. They’re booing him, giving him the thumbs-down, holding up signs--what the hell is a _wank pheasant,_ anyway?

They’re booing Roman. Not him. _Roman._

And of course they _shouldn’t_ be booing the new champion, Seth corrects himself sternly as the match begins. Because he’s the Architect, he’s the best, he’s the--

They’re doing the fucking Wave.

Seth stops in the middle of the ring with his hands on his hips, staring in disbelief as the crowd ripples around them, ignoring the ring, ignoring the fact that the wrestlers are--that _Seth_ is--fighting a match here. Risking their bodies, their bones, their _teeth_ (God, no, don’t think about it again, don’t--)

Anger lifts him like a red wave, a rage he doesn’t want to look at too closely. He body-slams Orton into a turnbuckle, then climbs onto the ropes, glaring out at the crowd. “Sit down and shut up!” he screams, and his voice is scraped raw and bleeding. Kane is talking to him, telling him something, trying to calm him down, but Seth can hardly hear him over the roaring of his own blood. “I’m the champ now! You want to fight me?” And for a moment he would, he would take on every last one of them, curb stomp them all, the ungrateful bastards.

He gets down off the rope, goes to the corner. He looks out at the crowd and happens to meet Roman’s eyes, and Roman’s face is stony, expressionless. If anything, he looks faintly confused as to why Seth is so angry. They’re not booing Seth, after all.

Seth doesn’t know why he’s so angry, he doesn’t know why, he _doesn’t know--_

The crowd starts to chant for C.M. Punk, for C.M. _fucking_ Punk, and before he can think about it, before he even realizes what he’s doing, he crotch-chops them, a wild gesture of rage that he just barely manages to keep directed roughly toward his opponent’s side of the ring. _Plausible deniability, that’s the clever Architect thinking_ , he thinks caustically, and then he runs at Orton and they’re trading blows on the turnbuckle, Orton punches his chest and it’s like a blow to his heart, like his heart is broken. Should he ask for another, like Roman asked Lesnar? He gets another, and another, and is slammed to the mat, and everything hurts.

He tags in Kane just as Orton tags in Roman, and the crowd erupts in boos once more. Everything hurts. Nothing makes sense. Chaos. He jumps back in to curb stomp Ryback, dodges Roman’s spear, flees up the ramp. _Don’t look back, Seth. Don’t look back._

He looks back.

Roman is staring at him. Their eyes meet for a long moment. Everything hurts.

The perfect moment, he thinks bitterly.


End file.
